


giving (taking)

by kuchi



Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Feelings, M/M, Mild Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: Kyle somehow always ends up letting Stan lead him into the most amazing sex. Smut.





	giving (taking)

**Author's Note:**

> this is... not as mild as the others.

Stan’s skin is hot, his hips pressed underneath Kyle’s hips, scent everywhere in Kyle’s senses. They’re in Kyle’s bed, just kissing, and then slightly-more-than kissing. Kyle’s missing his shirt, and currently attempting to wrestle Stan’s off him too. He knows this routine well, but it’s not one he thinks he’ll ever tire of. The heat of it, the toe-curling closeness. The strong hands holding his hips, tugging their bodies closer. Kyle wants to melt right into those hands.

Stan shifts and lifts up to wrench off his own shirt, his body drawing warm and flexible.

Kyle is kissing him hard, hands around Stan’s face or his neck or his shoulders - he can't really keep one position for long enough to tell. Their hips grind together slowly but surely. Kyle begins the mental process of willing himself to pry his body off Stan's so they can get properly naked.

Sometimes when they do this, they don't really manage to get any further than this position; Kyle doesn't know if it's laziness or just a lack of willingness to let each other go.

Usually they get a rhythm - pressed together, chest to chest and more, with only a slick hand between them, or maybe nothing, and Kyle has to squeeze his eyes shut because it's almost _too_ close, and his heart might leap out of his throat, and how does Stan have so much _skin?_

He marvels at how something so _obvious_ , so long-familiar like just holding each other close can undo him like that. The feel of Stan’s ragged breath in his ear, his hand cupped sweetly against the back of Kyle’s neck. His heart beating a hundred miles an hour against Kyle’s own. The smell of his skin and his sweat and his cheap shampoo. Sometimes, he'll press a kiss against Kyle’s throat, clumsy in its fervour but determined as hell.

That’s what it’s like in the first few weeks. Just the effect of sheer proximity - bodies pushing together deliberately; the hot, hard evidence of Stan’s arousal against his own. That's all it is and that's all it takes, because Kyle’s brain and dick short-circuit at the real, raw feeling of it, nevermind whatever else he might have wanted to do to get Stan off - and of course, not to mention the thrill that Stan is having the same reaction to _him_ , too.

It’s lazy making out, until it suddenly isn’t; playful until it’s suddenly urgent. A mutual want turning into a mutual need, until it’s too much, too late to extract themselves from each other and try something else.

But there are times when it’s slow, too, and they stay gentle. Times when it feels like _hours of_ torturous teasing, though it’s probably only minutes. Kyle can admit this only happens when Stan wants it to - he doesn’t really have the patience for it himself. When he either starts off straddling Kyle (or - he’d deny it - snuggling Kyle) or through some other means manhandles Kyle underneath him, whenever he's in some dumb romantic mood.

Well. It's not really _dumb -_ it can’t be, when Kyle feels exactly those feelings, maybe even more; deeper, more desperate. But calling it dumb to Stan afterwards kind of helps the lump in his throat. Because the thing is, Stan is _good_ at sex. Better than him, he can admit it, and he knows it best when they end up like this - he has no fucking clue how Stan seems to know how to touch him so easily.

His gentle eyes, gentle lean over Kyle’s body, a leg nudged between Kyle’s own. Slow, warm kisses down his neck and chest, a deliciously decisive hand over the fabric of his pants. Stan makes sure to touch him over that final layer of fabric, always, drawing little sighs from Kyle until his cock is leaking right through and his brain is leaking through his ears. And when he _finally_ gets them off - as slow as he can manage, the _asshole_ \- Kyle could writhe. Stan’s perfect body pressed on his is almost enough (as usual), but then he’s using deft hands, that fucking tender _voice_. Even the hesitation Kyle knows he felt those first few times (the split second of “what do I do with this other dick?!” as Stan had described eloquently, giggling in bed afterwards) is hidden away somewhere. A lack of experience made up for with single-minded curiosity; disguised under a thick whisper of _is that okay?_ or _do you feel good?_ or - God forbid -  _can I make you come, baby?_

And Kyle (obviously) can’t decline. Stan leans over and watches him close, an arm braced next to him on the bed, or sometimes, all the way over his head. Brings their faces together often, foreheads touching, his hand bringing Kyle thoroughly through his orgasm until he’s too sensitive and has to shove it away. If Kyle tries to reach up and kiss him then - to break past the weird softness in the air - he’s held down firmly, Stan’s mouth deeper and slower and lovelier on him than any kiss he would have intended. And if Stan hasn’t come by then - which, he’s usually too focused to have done - he lets Kyle go, enough for him to get a weak hand in that dark hair, or on the small of his back where the sweat pools, while he jerks himself onto Kyle’s body, making a mess over his stomach and his hipbones.

But sometimes it’s different to both those things, or anything in between. It’s rougher. It’s not like they _start_ by wrestling (which definitely does happen) but they end up something like it anyway.

This is probably going to be one of those times, Kyle can already tell. It’s too impatient too early. They’re kissing deep one moment, his hands steady on Stan’s shoulders, then the switch just _flips_ \- Stan attacks suddenly, grabs rough handfuls of his ass, hard, biting down on his lip at the same time. It’s a bold move for him considering he doesn’t have the advantage of being on top right now, Kyle thinks, but immediately, he’s feeling it, too. Stan’s hands squeeze him hard and Kyle grinds his erection into his stomach in response, a hand flat on his chest to hold him down.

He tastes salt; maybe his lip is bleeding? He goes for a handful of hair, just for the reaction - pulls on his closed fist hard enough to really hurt. Stan moans into his mouth and thrusts up, and Kyle loses his grip enough to have to bear harshly onto Stan’s body in the process. Stan seems to like it though, so he presses down, shoving Stan’s arms into the bed, and God, he can feel those muscles move under his palms. His thighs clamp down to trap Stan’s torso. A hard kiss; sloppy, because all his concentration is focused on pinning Stan there.

Kyle’s fingers are pressing deep, and Stan has one of his wrists caught in an unyielding pinch. It _hurts_ , and Kyle knows it’s going to bruise tomorrow - until suddenly, Stan releases him.

His whole body is loose, the fight gone as quick as it came. He’s heaving, staring daggers. Kyle stares back and keeps holding on hard despite his confusion, almost involuntarily, like Stan’s expression is compelling him to do it. It’s shifted in a way that Kyle can’t make out, but it makes his dick twitch nonetheless.

Stan’s eyes hold steady for a few moments.

Kyle can hear nothing but their shared heaving breaths. Stan's lip twitches nervously for the briefest second, like he’s contemplating something Kyle might object to. His cheeks are flushed, but he seems to ignore it.

“Kyle,” he breathes, expectant.  “Slap me.”

_“What?”_

That’s the _last thing_ he expected.

Stan’s breath hitches awkwardly, impatience showing. “Just hit me.”

 _Uh, no?_ Kyle tries to say with his expression, dumbfounded. He manages to unscrunch his eyebrows and shuts off Stan with another hard kiss, before he can make any more weird requests. Sure, they’ve been kind of violent before, and Kyle knows that he’s naturally a little erratic, a little aggressive in a way that Stan definitely doesn’t object to, but - this seems too much, and way too one-sided, and just plain weird.

Stan grunts and struggles, and Kyle reflexively regains the hold that slipped from him in his surprise. But Stan is agitated, squirming with frustration and not really giving back in the same way as before. They’re getting sweaty fast and Kyle can’t keep up his hold for much longer, so he changes tack.

His hand comes up to grab under Stan’s chin, fingers wrapping carefully around his throat. He can feel the tendons of Stan’s neck flex, the ride of his Adam’s apple, the hot rushing pulse as he rolls his head back with a moan. But he doesn’t make a move with his now-free arms at all. Instead, he just juts his jaw out and keeps doing his best to stare Kyle down.

And just like that, Kyle _knows_ why he’s frustrated, why he won’t retaliate. Fuck. Stan’s eyes are piercing into him, _daring_ him, while the rest of his body lays tense, waiting. He digs his thumb roughly in the hollow under the side of Stan’s jaw, experimentally, and Kyle knows it hurts because he _flinches_ , but he doesn’t move away. He fucking wants this - this-

He doesn’t know what to do with the thought, with the sight of Stan flushed like this under him, plainly asking for _that_ , and the arousal spiking fast in his head crashes out of him as nervous laughter. “Fuck, you really wanna…?”

Well. Okay. He’ll get what he wants.

Another dig into his throat, and then it’s quick, Kyle’s palm comes sharp across his cheek. His hand stings, feels wrong, but his cock surges. Stan moans loud and low, his hand immediately coming to fumble at his waistband.

He bites his swollen lips, asking for more with nothing but his eyes and a nervous laugh that barely manages to be a laugh before turning into a ragged moan.

“Fuck,” Kyle mutters, and without much thought he slaps Stan again, the other cheek this time. The sound rings in his own ears, and it’s heady. His eyes are fucking blurring just looking down at Stan’s body - _God_ , he thinks guiltily, he looks so _good_ like this, just getting lost in this thing - and Kyle has really no idea how the hell they got here.

Stan moans quietly. “Do it again,” he says, and his hand is busy over his own cock, the movement cautious like he wants to be careful not to tip himself over the edge.

Kyle swallows and for some reason obliges straight away, palm striking across one side of that gorgeous face, then the other, grabbing Stan’s jaw roughly to aid the movement. He’s watching for a warning, for any real discomfort, but Stan takes it well, he fucking _loves_ it, actually - his hazy expression dissolving instantly into a grunt of pleasure -

Fuck. Kyle watches the jerky, hurried movement of Stan’s fist around his cock. He’s stroking now like he doesn’t give a fuck what Kyle thinks; moaning and moaning, and each sound is for Kyle, another request to be _hurt_. And Kyle indulges him, of course he fucking does, because this is stupidly _hot_ , until he comes - shamelessly, messily spilling over his hand up to his chest, which is heaving hard. He wipes his hand on his pants carelessly, sweat glistening at his temples.

Kyle’s somewhere else now. He gets off Stan and kneels next to him on the bed, taking out his aching cock.

“Come on,” he mumbles. Stan’s eyes are following him curiously, and then his body is, instantly huddling between Kyle’s legs, and either Kyle gets his fingers in his mouth, or Stan grabs and takes them - he doesn’t know. It’s brief; a five-second ritual for the sake of permission and position; limbs aligning until Stan is steady on his elbows and Kyle has a good grip of his head. He pulls on his hair a little, admires the red on his throat. Stan’s leaning in a way that frames him perfectly, strong shoulders taut.

In his state, he wastes no time in getting Kyle’s cock in his mouth, eager but methodical. The sensation is wet; slow, perfect suction. But Stan doesn’t caress him, urge him to relax into it like usual. And Kyle doesn’t sit back on his ass or let the bed take his weight.

Stan pulls off after barely a minute, looking strangely restless, and Kyle tries not to die when he looks up with that same strange look and says, “You can fuck my mouth.”

Kyle might be trembling but this time he’s not caught by surprise. _Just wreck me more_ , is the part that goes unsaid, though Kyle could say the same thing.

He lets a hand run over Stan’s cheek as he gets into position, holds his jaw still in his grip for a moment. They’ve done this a few times before, but Kyle can already tell this is going to be different. Stan catches his eye to show he’s ready, and then he’s guiding Kyle’s cock into his mouth, taking it deep inside carefully. Kyle hungrily watches his eyes flutter closed, following the angle until Stan hands it over to him with a gentle moan - and soon enough Kyle is fucking him, careful at first, and then it’s wetter and warmer and faster and soon enough it’s a lot harder. Stan holds perfectly still for him.

He wants to be - to be _used_ like this. Kyle can’t look that thought straight in the eye without coming, so he focuses on the feel of it, the sound. The wetness and slickness and the helpless, muffled moans against his own measured thrusts. Just once, he pulls out a little too late for Stan’s shuddering breaths.

Stan takes long breaths and coughs quickly, and shoves his face into the place below Kyle’s stomach the moment he's done.

Kyle whispers, “OK?”, and he’s given up trying not to feel so turned on by that shuddering and sighing.

Stan looks up instantly. “Yeah, come on.” His voice is hoarse.

Kyle’s head reels with it, the eagerness of it. This _should_ be uncomfortable, and it probably is, but Stan doesn’t seem to care, and the part of Kyle that wants to see how far he will go with this is only growing. Before he can think about what he’s doing, he gets a handful of Stan’s jaw again, steadies him enough to slap him across the face. Stan arches when the sting comes, mumbles something under his moans, a _‘yeah’_ or a _‘fuck’_ , but it doesn’t matter - because Kyle wants to be back in his mouth again. Stan wraps his lips around his cock obediently when Kyle presses into him again. Kyle fucks into his mouth hard, and Stan moans around him, nudging eagerly and barely managing to hold himself still when Kyle’s hand scratches deep through his hair.

Kyle relishes it, all way from the silky, smooth slide of his lips to the constricting heat inside. It's a game, of knowing when to let him breathe - and when not to. Sometimes Stan struggles, gags almost, and he marvels that it’s not enough to make him stop. It’s fucking greedy, really, and it _can’t_ be pleasant, but Stan - _Stan_ \- is revelling in it, looking up at him from below the sweaty mess of his hair, lashes wet and noises slick and obscene with the effort of it, the _excess_.

It’s too much.

“Gonna come,” Kyle mumbles, dragging himself away, but Stan’s fingers grabbing roughly around his wrist don’t let him get far.

“S’okay,” he slurs, “just come,” and after he swallows enough air he lets his mouth stay open, wet tongue curling under the tip of Kyle’s cock, inviting. Kyle grabs the back of his head roughly, squeezes the grip on his hair to hold him place, his other hand jerking himself shallowly into Stan’s mouth. He comes hard, sudden. It’s only more intense when he realises Stan is diligently cleaning him up as he does.

He comes down to Earth when he feels a hand squeezing his own, and watches Stan’s other arm come up shakily to wipe his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Kyle breathes while his brain lags, and then he jerks to his senses and pulls Stan up into an embrace. Stan is breathing hard, and he just lets Kyle kiss him.

Kyle waits for the cogs in his head to click in place. Stan laughs lightly when Kyle wipes the wetness away from his eyes; watches warily, scratching his nose. Kyle realises that he’s kind of trying to hide behind his hand (whether he knows it or not).

And Kyle has always been terrible at this kind of stuff during sex, but that’s not what they’re doing anymore, so he gently pulls Stan down into the bed with him. He holds their faces close, kissing him, but not with any urgency. His thumbs stroke along Stan’s jawline, tracing the skin slowly.

“You feel okay?”  

Stan grins a decisive “yes” before resuming hiding behind his hand. Kyle laughs in wonder, he can’t help it, and runs a hand softly through his damp hair, whispering first “ _oh my God,_ ” and again, “holy shit,” and then suddenly, “I’m gonna get you water, okay?” Stan nods a slight nod, looking sheepish and satisfied, and Kyle has to drag his hand away gently to just _look_ at that face, to stroke it and kiss it forever.

Later, when they’re all but asleep, he leans over and says, “I fucking knew it,” in Stan’s ear, but it’s not like Stan cares. He only snickers and shrugs in the semi-darkness in response, winding his arm tighter around Kyle.


End file.
